The Sorceress's Lament, The Knight's Regret
by Lovecraft
Summary: Late at night, Edea contemplates her actions both done and undone while Seifer tries to forget what he doesn't remember.


Random Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy VIII. If I did, I probably would have made Rinoa into less of a brain-fluff and turned Quistis into the leading lady. (Not that I'd want her with Squall. Ew. *wide eyed blink* Now I'm going places even my freaky mind doesn't want to go to. ) 

Further Notes: I have Edea remembering her time controlled by Sorceress Adel. I'm not doing this because I don't know any better, ;) , I'm doing this because it highlights the helplessness of her situation plus explains why she's suddenly with child and _knows it_. This isn't to say that she told everyone she remembers, I'd be shamed into saying I don't if I were in her position. This tale is about Edea's decision in a situation where she is alone and must choose between the rock and the hard-place. 

Rated R: Mature Themes 

# The Sorceress's Lament, The Knight's Regret

The decision of life and death housed incongruously within the confines of a benign green vial no longer than the tiniest finger of her left hand. 

Black cohosh, it was called. A simple extract laced with magic. A clear liquid, completely oblivious to the pain its mere presence induced. 

Edea's hand possessively rested upon her belly, her piercing gaze unmoved from the jewel-toned glass cradled in her palm. 

'What right have I to take this from him? Who am I to deny him this life?' 

The vial glittered back at Edea, telling her in its simple way that it could not answer her questions, only she could answer them. 

'What right have I to thrust a child upon him? Who am I to demand that he give up his dreams for a child that he doesn't even remember conceiving? With a woman he looked at as a mother, for Hyne's sake!' 

A single tear slid down Edea's cheek, crystalline over cream. 

'And what of my husband? He's forgiven me so much already, how could he possibly endure this?' 

A pale fist clenched over indelicate, indifferent, glass. 

'But he's always wanted a child, and infant to raise as his own and carry the bloodline. If I simply didn't tell him... Dear Hyne, could I live with the consequences of birthing the next Sorceress for Adel's manipulations? Could I raise a child in enough joy that they would never turn evil? Could I keep her protected from becoming the puppet I was when she was conceived?' 

A trembling breath was drawn into burning lungs. Nimble fingers unlatch the simple stopper and swiftly upend it's contents into a crystal goblet partially filled with a burgundy-hued mead. 

'I remember every action, every word, every emotion that passed through Adel and into me. I could control nothing, but I felt it all. I wish I could forget. I told everyone the memories are gone. Better they believe the lust for power and death gone for good than to know how the ache to rule pulses in the corners of my mind. Better they don't think of how I can recall the every touch of a man who is not my husband.' 

The goblet rose to Edea's lips, then paused. 

A quiet knock echoed from the wooden door, then opened moments later to reveal a smiling Cid. The vial disappeared into a voluminous pocket in her simple black shift. 

"Ah, there you are Edea. I've been looking for you for the past ten minutes!" 

Edea's lips twisted into a smile. "I thought a little mead after dinner might be nice." 

Nodding at the suggestion, Cid moved to the table to fill a goblet for himself. "A wonderful idea, my dear. And since I know how you hate drinking alone, I'll join you." Edea's hand once again stole to her belly. Unaware, Cid lifted his goblet up to Edea's and lightly clicked against it. "To happiness, my love." 

Voice quiet with apology, Edea replied, "To life." 

And she drank. 

**~*~**

Several hundred miles away, in a darkened corner of a seedy bar, an ash blonde man raises his shot glass in a toast to no one. He has been drinking steadily for some hours and is hoping against hope for only one thing: a single night without the dream. 

He doesn't know why he has this dream of cool flesh and moonlight kissed skin, but they come regardless. He doesn't know who the dream is of, perhaps a woman from his past or maybe a woman in his future. All he knows is that each morning, he awakens in a cold sweat, his body achingly aroused and his mind filled with such fear that he is unconsciously searching for the gunblade hidden under his pillow. 

"To regrets unknown."


End file.
